Dark Secret
by sciphile
Summary: In Aragorn, Frodo finds the strength to bear his heavy burden. SLASH/ONESHOT


***************************************************************Title: Dark Secret (1/1)

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn

Summary: In Aragorn, Frodo finds the strength to bear his heavy burden.

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money from writing this story. I do it for pleasure only. J.R.R. Tolkien created all of the characters, even though I like to adulterate them.

Author's Notes: Movieverse...except I've given them some extra time to suit my purposes.

***************************************************************

Night was closing in. Frodo's legs buckled underneath him, but he kept running. If it weren't for Aragorn's unyielding insistence that they reach Lorien by nightfall, he would have fallen to his knees and let the ground swallow him up.

Gandalf was gone.

His mind struggled to grasp the unthinkable. There was a dull emptiness in his chest, and his unshed tears were driving a rod through his throat. All the while he ran, he repeated to himself: It is real. It is true.

Vaguely he realized that he was gasping for breath, but it didn't matter. The thought occurred to him to fall back. Maybe he could slip unnoticed away from the rest of the Fellowship. By the time they realized he was gone, he would be back in Moria where he should have perished instead of Gandalf, his body being torn to shreds by ravenous orcs. His company wouldn't try to go back for him there, and no more of them would have to die for him. But then he remembered: if the Fellowship was not successful in destroying the ring, they would all die anyway. He ran on.

Frodo had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't realize when they had reached the woods of Lorien until the trees closed around them. Their pace slowed, and Frodo could hear the rest of the party struggling for air as he was.

Gimly turned back to make sure Frodo and Sam were still with them. "Stay close, young Hobbits," he advised, reaching his arm out to bring them closer. "They say a great sorceress lives in these woods." He turned and continued into the forest, axe in hand. "An Elf-Witch, of terrible power." His eyes scanned the trees. "All who look upon her fall under her spell."

_Frodo..._

Frodo's head snapped around to find the source of the voice echoing through his mind.

_Your coming here is as the footsteps of doom. You bring great evil here, Ringbearer._

Frodo clasped his head in his hands. His mind shouted against the elusive voice. _I do not wish to bring evil to anyone! I did not ask for this burden!_

Suddenly there were arrows aimed at all their heads, held steady by fair elves that seemed to have appeared out of thin air. After a moment of tension, Aragorn began speaking to their leader.

He knew him, Frodo realized. Studying them, he wondered how and when the Elf had made Aragorn's acquaintance.

"Come," spoke the leader after a brief exchange of words. "She is waiting."

***

That night they made camp under the shelter of the woods and the protection of the Lord and Lady of the Galadrim. Their bedrolls were all arranged within relative proximity of the fire; Aragorn had allowed them a fire this time.

Frodo sat on his bedroll as they prepared to sleep for the night, looking down at the ground as he drew patterns in the soft soil. Gimli was right; Lady Galadriel had been bewitching, but when she greeted them, Frodo had been unable to appreciate her light through the darkness in his heart.

He heard Aragorn's footsteps approach beside him.

"It should have been me," Frodo said, his voice barely higher than a whisper.

"Ah, little one." Aragorn knelt beside him. Frodo's attention didn't turn from his mindless tilling. "We all feel Gandalf's loss."

All at once the tears that had been welling in Frodo's eyes spilled over and he was gripped by grief. Aragorn folded him in his arms and Frodo buried his face in the man's chest. "I can't take it," he said between sobs. "I can't let all of you go to your deaths for me."

"No, Frodo. Do not feel responsible for Gandalf's death. He died not for your sake, but for all of Middle Earth."

Frodo tried to allow Aragorn's words to comfort him, struggling for a long time with images of Gandalf and trying to put them out of his mind. He knew Aragorn was right. The quest was not for his sake. He was simply the only one who could carry the ring without desiring to use it, either for good or ill. Slowly his tears calmed, and his sobs quieted to the occasional hitch in his breathing.

The ranger's strong arms were still wrapped tightly around him. His embrace enveloped Frodo completely. The warmth and virility emanating from Aragorn was like a magnet to Frodo, soothing and fascinating him at once. His scent was like musk and amber; so rich and sweet. Frodo's body began to react, and he found himself wishing that Aragorn's mouth would descend upon his.

Shock stilled his thoughts. He steeled his mind against the shame that welled up in him.

Aragorn released him and rubbed his arms lightly. "Have faith, little hobbit," he said. "You are not as alone as you may think."

While Frodo pondered what Aragorn meant by his statement, he silently hoped that Aragorn did not notice his predicament. He knew the fire was not providing enough light for the man to see the evidence of his arousal, but he just hoped it wasn't written in his eyes. His face was burning.

"Thank you, Aragorn. Thank you for your...concern, for me. I-I should very much like to...bed down...for the night now." Frodo's cheeks grew even hotter. Somehow that statement hadn't sounded quite like he had intended. "I mean..."

"I understand, Frodo. I shall take my leave of you now. But do not be ashamed if you find you have need of a friend's conversation. I will be on first watch. Sometimes an understanding ear can do much to heal."

How like Gandalf he sounded in that moment. Frodo was grateful that Aragorn seemed to have mistaken his present awkwardness for shame of another sort. "Thank you."

With a final pat on Frodo's shoulder, Aragorn stood up and walked to the other side of the fire, where the vantage point was best for keeping watch. Frodo breathed a sigh of relief as he watched him walk away, unable to resist stealing a glance at the ranger's taut backside. As he lay down on his bedroll, his mind was filled with the uninvited image of that backside flexing and thrusting in the rhythm of love. He shoved it aside as quickly as he could, but not before his breath caught in his throat.

_Go to sleep, silly hobbit!_

Aragorn placed another log on the fire before walking back to the tree near his bedroll. Cloaked in darkness, he observed the enigmatic hobbit who lay on the other side of the camp. He could tell that Frodo had become uncomfortable in his embrace. Even before Aragorn had released him, his body had become frozen and tense. At first he had assumed that Frodo was embarrassed; he had been so very unselfconscious in Aragorn's arms, burying his tears in his chest and grasping at great handfuls of his tunic. Was Frodo ashamed at his display of emotion?

Now that he reconsidered that, it didn't seem likely. Gandalf had taught him much about the little halflings, and Aragorn had been ravenous for the knowledge. From what he knew about them, they were not prone to displays of foolish male pride as men were. To a hobbit, there would be as much shame in crying as there would be in laughing.

And then he remembered something else that Gandalf had told him, something that had provided for many amusing conversations. It seemed that they were quite put off by relations between two males. So put off, in fact, that they made sure to be quite vocal about it whenever they got the chance. It irritated Gandalf to no end, since they already held him in the highest suspicion simply due to the fact that he was an Outsider. He was sure that they would send an angry mob after him if they discovered that he _preferred_ relations with men. Were hobbits made so uncomfortable then by the idea of contact between two males that they would refuse an offer of comfort when it was given? That didn't seem right either. Frodo was no ordinary hobbit, though he wouldn't be all wrong to be wary of Aragorn in that sense.

What then? It seemed a mystery that wouldn't be unraveled this night. Aragorn reached into his pack beside him and pulled out his pipe and a small leather sack filled with the finest Old Toby the Prancing Pony had to offer. He chuckled to himself, realizing that the habit of smoking was yet another contribution Gandalf had made to his "education." For the first time, he bowed his head and let his heart be grieved for the loss of his friend.

Long hours passed. Aragorn kept himself awake smoking and remembering old Elvish folk songs he had been taught as a boy. His companions were sleeping more soundly than they had since the quest began. All except Legolas, who was passing the night with old friends, but had agreed to relieve Aragorn halfway through the night.

He considered that they probably didn't need to keep a watch tonight, since the Lord and Lady of Lorien were effectively providing that for them, but he didn't want the company to be surprised by anything. Gimli's snoring, after all, could be heard for 20 leagues.

He noticed, to his amusement, that all the hobbits seemed prone to talking in their sleep. There were mostly just soft moans and unintelligible interjections, save for the one instance when he thought he heard Pippin whisper, "It comes in pints?" He had little doubt what the rascal was dreaming about.

The one exception to this trend seemed to be Frodo. He had neither moved nor made a sound since his curly brown locks had met the bedroll. It almost made Aragorn concerned, until he realized he could just barely make out the rapid movement of Frodo's eyes behind their lids.

Aragorn marveled at just how unlike other hobbits he was, and in so many ways. While other hobbits would sneer in suspicion at a wizard like Gandalf or an elf like Elrond or Legolas, Frodo looked up at them, wide-eyed, eager to learn all they had to teach him.

Frodo was unique physically as well. His features were so refined. So flawless. Very un-hobbitlike. In comparison to Frodo, Aragorn thought other hobbits looked like gourds that had been left for too long on the vine. And his eyes! Aragorn thought that eyes so intensely blue could not be found even in the finest elvish artwork. And even though he knew that Frodo was the oldest of all his hobbit companions, Aragorn could see that the possession of the ring had preserved his youth. It seemed a shame that Frodo must destroy the ring. Aragorn would see Frodo's beauty preserved forever if the consequences did not demand otherwise.

But they did demand. Aragorn recalled Frodo's pain, and wished with all his heart that there were some way to spare him from it. He had never met someone so pure, so undeserving of all this grief, but it seemed that Frodo was the only one for the task. If he could, Aragorn would destroy the ring himself, even if it meant hurling himself into the very fires of Mordor to do it, but he knew it was no use. Instead he would give Frodo all he had to offer: his sword, his protection, his devotion. Even his life.

Suddenly Frodo moved for the first time all night. Aragorn watched his head turn a little, his lips parting slightly. He was lying on his back, but now his face was turned in Aragorn's direction. Frodo's perfectly sculpted brows were knit together and Aragorn thought the expression on his face looked like one of...arousal? Frodo moaned softly, and Aragorn suddenly found it difficult to breathe. When he became aware of the tightness in his groin, he thought of Arwen and chided himself.

***

Frodo's dream was influenced not a little by the last thoughts he had as he fell asleep. In the nether world, it didn't matter that Aragorn was twice his size. Their bodies fit together like two halves of a whole. Frodo couldn't see him clearly, he could only feel his skin as it scorched his own from head to toe. Aragorn was inside him, filling him, touching the places no one else had ever touched, while Frodo's erection throbbed and pulsed between them. Aragorn rocked his hips gently, slowly, all the while kissing Frodo with soft tenderness. Frodo felt that he couldn't touch him enough. He couldn't mold enough of his skin to Aragorn's, or kiss his eyes or throat enough to show him his heart.

All the while Galadriel's voice was echoing softly behind him. She was trying to tell him something, but he didn't want to hear her. He wanted to be lost in Aragorn. To be a part of him.

_Bind him to you..._

His tongue entered Aragorn's mouth. Aragorn moaned and plunged himself deeply into Frodo.

_You are the same..._

Aragorn brought his hand between them and wrapped it around Frodo's length. The fluid at the tip laved Aragorn's hand and he stroked, squeezing a little, to the rhythm of his thrusts. Frodo moaned, waves of heat spreading through his body. Galadriel was speaking but he didn't care. His hips writhed to Aragorn's rhythm.

He was delirious now, his head thrown backwards, pressure building in his groin. Aragorn continued to stroke while his tongue found Frodo's ear and traced a delicate pattern around the inside.

"Yes, Aragorn..." He was close now, teetering over the summit waiting for that last push.

Only then could he hear Galadriel's words.

"Bind him to you! You are the same, carrying the same burden towards the same end!"

There was urgency in her voice. It was a message that he knew she wanted desperately for him to hear. What did it mean? Suddenly Aragorn vanished from his arms and he was left alone, cold and naked. "Aragorn! Aragorn!"

Frodo sat up and the blanket fell away from him. For a moment he was disoriented, then he saw that he was awake, sitting fully clothed, in his bedroll. When he realized he had called Aragorn's name aloud, he placed his hand over his mouth and looked around the camp to make sure he hadn't awakened anyone.

"What is it, Ringbearer? You were calling for me." Aragorn's hushed voice traveled from the other side of the fire. Frodo looked in his direction but all he could see was a small fiery red disk that glowed, and then faded. Glowed, then faded. The bowl of a pipe.

"I...I thought you had gone," he stammered. "It was silly. Just a dream." Frodo lay back down and turned to face the forest, praying that none of his other vocalizations had materialized into reality. His face was burning again.

We should all dream such dreams, Aragorn thought. Now he understood why he made the hobbit so uncomfortable. It was a terrible predicament indeed for a hobbit to find himself in. How he wished he could erase all the years of shame from Frodo's mind.

***

The next morning Legolas and Aragorn were loading their packs and necessities into three boats. Pippin and Sam had found some duck eggs by the riverbank, and from it had made a fluffy omelet, which they filled with bacon and mushrooms. Gimli, Boromir and the Hobbits remained at the campsite eating, while Gimli kept the companions captivated with some tale of Dwarf hospitality and the generousness of a Dwarven breakfast feast.

Frodo couldn't help feeling Aragorn's absence. Images of last night's dream were still haunting his consciousness. Trying to slip away from the camp unnoticed, he rose and walked to the river to see if he could be of any help. He stopped when he cleared the trees and could see Aragorn working diligently. He seemed unusually focused, even for Aragorn. Frodo thought of last night and feared the worst.

Walking slowly, Frodo observed him without his knowledge. How powerful his body was. He wore only his breeches and a light buckskin vest, with a blade strapped to his leg. When he leaned over one of the boats, supporting his weight against the side with one arm while he arranged weapons and packs tightly together with the other, the muscles in his upper arms bulged and flexed under his skin. The memory of those arms wrapped around him flashed unbidden through Frodo's mind. He closed his eyes and willed it away.

Regaining himself, he made his presence known. "Is there something I can do?" he asked.

Aragorn started a little at the sound of Frodo's voice. How odd, Frodo thought. He must have been quite lost in his own thoughts to have not heard his approach. Wasn't that unheard of for a ranger of Strider's prowess? Warily, Frodo searched Aragorn's face for a sign. Did he know?

Aragorn saw Frodo in a new light this morning. Knowing that the halfling wanted him was doing something strange and inexplicable to him. He had been avoiding Frodo all morning out of fear of looking upon his face. But why was he afraid? Perhaps he didn't want to cause him any more discomfort. Perhaps he didn't want to unwittingly reveal to Frodo that he knew; he would surely be mortified to his toes. Or perhaps he didn't want the hobbit to see how much the knowledge thrilled him.

"The majority of the work is done," Aragorn said. "This troop travels lightly."

Frodo hesitated. "Is there something wrong, Aragorn?" There was something unspoken behind his eyes. Something else his lips wanted to say, but his mind wouldn't allow.

_Yes, there is something terribly wrong. I can't take you in my arms and kiss away the worry from your brow. _"No, Frodo. I am simply anxious that we be on our way."

Frodo studied Aragorn's expression a long time, before nodding and stepping away, back towards the camp.

In less than an hour they were on the river, with Lothlorien behind them. Legolas and Gimli had taken the first boat, with Aragorn, Frodo and Sam in another, and Boromir in the last with the other hobbits. They traveled the entire day without stopping. Occasionally Aragorn would rest his arms and call out for the others to do the same.

All the while Frodo was painfully aware of his presence. He didn't look back, but never stopped silently trying to will Aragorn into putting down his oars, wrapping him in his arms and whispering to him until all his fear and anguish melted away under the glow of his strength. All day he tortured himself in this way.

Finally they stopped by the riverbank when a waterfall prevented them from traveling any further up the river by boat. There was at most an hour of daylight left, and the company was exhausted, so Aragorn ordered them to make camp for the night.

While the rest of his companions were busied in unloading the boats and setting up camp, Frodo slipped unnoticed into his pack and palmed the small lump of soap his uncle Bilbo had given him in Rivendell. "You'll want this," Bilbo had assured in a hushed voice, and hadn't said anything else about it. Now he knew how right Bilbo had been. He felt disgusting. When they had set out that morning, he had promised himself that he would slip down to the water's edge the moment they made camp.

The boats had been unloaded and an appropriate camping place had been chosen when Merry and Pippin set about making a huge dinner with the fresh provisions that had been given them by the Lorien elves. While Aragorn's attentions were occupied elsewhere, Frodo took the opportunity to quietly slip away.

"Mind you make those provisions stretch as long as you can, little ones," Aragorn advised.

"Stretch, my foot!" countered Merry. "Now's the time to eat! There'll be plenty of time for stretching later!"

"My point exactly."

Merry scoffed, and with a dismissive wave of his arm in Aragorn's direction, returned to the task at hand.

Now as he crept silently along the sand at the water's edge, Frodo was sure his departure had gone unnoticed. He had walked a considerable distance away to ensure that the others wouldn't hear the sounds of water as he bathed. To boot, there seemed to be a little alcove just ahead, hidden nicely from view by a high rock wall. Frodo picked up his pace to close the distance to it.

Wasting no time, he began stripping off his things while he ran, leaving a trail of his many garments that led all the way to the secluded pool. The last item remaining was Bilbo's mithril-mail tunic. He stopped and looked down at it, touching it with his hands. Suddenly he realized he had left Sting lying on the sand, and ran back to retrieve it.

At the water's edge he laid the mithril out carefully, placing Sting on top of it. "Well within reach."

Finally he waded into the clear water, slowly running his feet through it to let them adjust to its icy temperature. There was still plenty of daylight and Frodo looked out over the water to the wooded bank on the other side. No sign of movement there, no noises coming from above. He told his racing heart to calm its speed.

Squatting down, he dipped a hand in the water and splashed some on his chest. The shock of it made him gasp, but he adjusted soon enough and splashed more on himself until he was completely wet. He waded in further, until the water came up to his thighs, and began to lather himself with the soap. The heady scent of it wafted up to his nostrils; it smelled of lavender and spice. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and slicked it all over his smooth chest, under his arms, over his stomach and between his legs. Gooseflesh formed all over his skin, which he rubbed down briskly.

On a whim, he dunked his head under the water and came up sputtering, his dark curls clinging in wet ringlets over his forehead and neck. His hair, too, he lathered, and when it was full of suds he dropped the soap to float momentarily while he scrubbed his scalp until it tingled. He plunged his head back in again and shook his hair out under the water to rinse it.

With his head upside-down, he felt the ring brushing against his forehead and shut his mind against its subtle siren song. _Be strong. Imagine you are Aragorn._

He chuckled at himself. "That man is just all things to you, isn't he."

_Not nearly as many things as I want him to be_. He pulled his head from the water and threw it back, sending an arc of water droplets flying behind him.

He sighed. "I really shouldn't indulge such thoughts." They could only cause him pain and disappointment in the end. After all, it was surely impossible, love between a hobbit and a man. Not to mention, Aragorn was already betrothed to the Lady Arwen, and even if that was not the case, he clearly didn't share in Frodo's tendencies. Once again Frodo's heart clouded over with the shame instilled in him by his upbringing in the Shire. All his life, his attraction to other males had been a dark secret he had shared only with Gandalf.

While he absentmindedly slicked the soap over his already-clean body, he remembered what Gandalf used to tell him. "There's no shame in being flesh and blood," he would say. "Of *course* no one in the Shire would understand. They've never even been outside their own front door! But it's a great, wide world out there where they fear to go."

Well, Frodo had now seen some of that great, wide world, and still Gandalf was the only person Frodo had ever met whom he felt could possibly sympathize with him. And he wondered: who had Gandalf met who had sympathized with *him*?

***

Merry and Pippin had outdone themselves, sparing no expense for this meal. Aragorn was surveying it appreciatively when it occurred to him that Frodo had been gone for some time. Trying to keep his mind from racing in alarm, he turned away from the camp and followed in the direction he felt Frodo had gone. The hobbit thought he was so surreptitious, but he wasn't aware that Aragorn could feel his presence whenever he was nearby, as he could feel his absence. He told himself he was only going looking for Frodo to apprise him of the meal in which he was sure he would want to take part. His worry was put to rest soon enough when he saw that Frodo had left a trail as clear as blood on snow. Obviously he wasn't trying *that* hard to be secretive. The ranger tried not to chuckle.

***

Frodo knew that he had best be getting back to camp. The sky was beginning to turn darker and the others would be missing him soon, if they weren't already. But the soap felt so soft and slippery on his skin, and this would be the last chance he would have again for days, he knew. He slid his hands over his skin and squeezed his arms tight, trying to get his fill of the sensation. His hands slid lower one more time, between his legs and over the soft sac, his curls there matted down with soap. Images from last night's dream lingered in his thoughts, and from earlier last eve, when being in Aragorn's arms had been not imagined, but real.

He thought of the strong arms wrapped around him; the warmth, the comfort. His skin still tingled from where it had been touched by him. He imagined what it would have been like to lift his lips up to Aragorn's throat while in the man's embrace. His skin would be salty, but soft, so soft, under Frodo's tongue.

Dimly Frodo realized that his hand had found his member. _Ah, bathing is not the only necessity I have had to deny my body these last weeks._ His arousal was growing and he stroked it gently, sending little jolts skipping across his nerves. The soap made the sensation feel like a soft tongue sliding around him. Aragorn's tongue. So hot on his throbbing erection. Aragorn would have no difficulty taking him all in, to the back of his throat.

Frodo tilted his head backwards as he imagined little noises that Aragorn might make. Deep moans. Hot breaths. His stroking became quicker. Gentle sucking. Soft abrading tongue slipping, wet, along his length.

Suddenly the sound of a cracking twig stopped Frodo short; in the same instant that the noise reached his ears he dropped down in the water, spinning around to face the direction from which it came. It was Aragorn. The man stood stock still, his gaze locked on Frodo, his mouth agape. All of the blood left Frodo's face. He had seen. He had seen what Frodo had been doing.

"Aragorn, I..." There were no words to smooth this over.

"Frodo, my deepest apologies. I should have warned you of my approach. It is my habit to travel in stealth."

Frodo was speechless. Why did Aragorn have to appear at the worst possible moment? And what was he to do now?

"I only sought you out to inform you that a large meal has been prepared, and is waiting for you back at the camp. I will leave you now. Do not linger here much longer." With that, Aragorn turned on his heel and walked briskly back in the direction of the camp.

Frodo's eyes sank shut. How could he possibly face Aragorn ever again? Out of all the people to come upon him at that moment, why did it have to be *him*?

He pondered Aragorn's words and wondered if he thought he was leaving Frodo here to finish his act. Well, if the shock hadn't ended any hope of that, the cold water certainly had. With a mortified groan, he rose out of the water and buried his face in his hands.

Back at camp, Aragorn was mercifully absent. As soon as Sam spied Frodo approaching, he ran up to meet him.

"Mr. Frodo! I was worryin' myself sick! You've had a bathe, I see. Why didn't you tell no one?"

"I wanted to be alone." Frodo tried his best to keep the edge out of his voice.

"Well, privacy is a luxury you just can't afford to take now. Not with that trinket hanging 'round your neck. I'm glad you're alright, anyhow. Come and have a bite to eat. Merry and Pippin made a right feast. Not nearly big as one you'd get at home, mind, but it'll do."

Frodo obediently followed Sam to the campfire and accepted the bowl of food that was handed to him. He thought as he squatted by the fire, was Aragorn as mortified as he was? Was that why he was not present? Or was it simply an act of mercy?

Even though he had no desire to be in Aragorn's presence at the moment, he strangely found his absence just as uncomfortable. What _was_ this affliction? As he ate, he searched the trees in the darkening twilight, wondering what in the world was he going to say to Aragorn when he saw him again.

Thankfully, Aragorn did not reappear until all were bedding down for the night. Frodo heard his voice before he saw him, standing in the distance, speaking to Legolas with hushed elvish words.

What arrangements were they making? _Come and sit with me, Aragorn. I need you. I need to apologize._

As if hearing his thoughts, Aragorn turned and began walking towards the camp. Frodo panicked. Frantically he looked around for a place to hide, and decided at the last second to throw himself down on his bedroll and feign sleep.

_What are you doing? Talk to him! Fix this!_ But he was already under his blanket with his eyes tightly shut by the time he heard Aragorn approach the camp. Aragorn stopped by Frodo's bedroll, and after endless heartbeats, sighed. Frodo cringed inside. He could feel his face burning red, betraying him. When he heard Aragorn's footsteps move off across to the other side of the camp, he released the breath he had been holding.

Aragorn sat down on his bedroll and leaned back against a tree, closing his eyes to get some rest before he relieved Legolas of the first watch. His thoughts were filled with the memory of how he had found Frodo earlier that evening. The image was burned into his mind; Frodo's head thrown back in pleasure, his taut, lean body straining and slick with moisture. He should have turned to face the other way the second he saw him, but he had been unable to do anything but stare, and fight the desire to run into the water and take him in hand himself. Unfortunately, Frodo had been too mortified to notice Aragorn's unmistakable physical reaction to seeing him like that. How he wished he had handled that encounter differently! And now Frodo was ashamed, humiliated. Unable to face him. He would have to clear that up.

He pondered his attraction to Frodo. His soul had such an intense light that he wondered how anyone could not be drawn to it. And there was that inexplicable feeling that had been tugging at him – he had attributed it to his need to protect the Ringbearer, but it seemed to delve much deeper than that. He felt almost as though they were somehow connected. He had tried to shake it off as too much isolation with the little hobbit and too little sleep, but the feeling was definite, and undeniable. Even now it was making him want to go over to Frodo's bedroll and draw him close.

He wondered if Arwen would sympathize.

Frodo lay with his back turned in Aragorn's direction, his heart beating too fast. He tried to breathe deeply and put thoughts of this evening's humiliation out of his mind, but it was no use. He was never going to get to sleep. All he could do was wonder if Aragorn's eyes were on him, and how he looked in those eyes. He had to say something to him at his first opportunity. Even if Aragorn shunned him in disgust, at least he would have tried.

It seemed as though he lay there for hours, unable to relax, fretting over the thought of being too weary to travel the next day, before he felt footsteps nearby and knew the watch was being rotated. He turned over in his bedroll to see, but could barely make out any signs of motion in the faint moonlight. He could hear whispers, then the sound of Legolas leaving the camp and ascending a nearby tree, presumably to rest after his watch. Frodo strained his eyes, but could not make out Aragorn's figure until the man quietly walked over and placed some tinder and a small log on the fire's dying embers. Slowly the tinder caught, flaring up and softly illuminating the small clearing in the trees. Just enough light for human eyes.

Aragorn did not return to his bedroll, but squatted by the fire and poked at it carefully with a stick. He was very close to Frodo there. Just a whisper's distance away. _Now is the time_.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he softly cleared his throat. "Aragorn?" he whispered.

Aragorn did not look in his direction. For a moment Frodo wondered if the ranger had heard him, until he whispered back, "You should be asleep."

"I can't. I can't stop thinking about earlier. I need to apol..."

"You need not." Aragorn spun around to face him. "That is for me to do, which I have done."

"I am so ashamed."

"Do not be. You are only flesh and blood. We all have such needs."

_Only flesh and blood. _He was sounding like Gandalf again. And then Frodo thought about the rest of Aragorn's words. The thought of Aragorn attending to his own "needs" made the breath stop in his throat.

Aragorn heard Frodo's gasp. Their gazes locked for a long time.

"It must be very hard to be away from your Lady for so long."

Aragorn turned back around and continued stoking the fire. "I am used to it," he said. Frodo thought he detected bitterness in his voice.

He propped himself on his arm, feeling perversely compelled to continue with this line of questioning. There was something of Aragorn there...something that spoke of a struggle within.

"How often are you together?"

"I do not wish to speak of this," Aragorn said, and punctuated the finality of it with a stern glance at Frodo. He had meant to look away immediately, but was held captive when he saw him. The hobbit was no longer hidden under his woolen blanket. His wore only his linen tunic, which fell open to reveal a great deal of his smooth, lean chest. He was disheveled, his unruly brown curls begging for Aragorn to bury his hand in them.

Frodo's heart froze. He felt as though Aragorn were examining him, and he swore the expression on his face revealed...desire? Could it be? Aragorn appeared to be fighting something tremendous. Frodo felt like stammering, but somehow found his voice. "Aragorn?"

"No!" Aragorn stood abruptly and marched to the other side of the fire.

Frodo's eyes were wide with realization. He couldn't breathe. He watched Aragorn walk away, his heart silently crying out for him to come back. Bemused, he watched as Aragorn sat against his tree. There was no help for it. Every fiber of his being wanted to go over and take him into his arms, but he knew that Aragorn was faced with an even greater obstacle than he was. Arwen.

Frodo lay back down on his bedroll, smoldering under Aragorn's gaze, watching his chest rise and fall too quickly.

They stayed like that for an agonizingly long time, neither willing or able to look away from the other, until Aragorn's eyelids fell shut and he dropped his head back against the tree. He swallowed hard, and before Frodo could wonder what he was thinking, Aragorn was up, walking toward him.

Frodo's pulse raced and he suddenly had the urge to flee. Aragorn did not give him the chance. Falling to his knees, Aragorn swept him up and crushed their lips together, mercilessly plunging his mouth, his tongue wet, his lips hot and soft. Unable to think, Frodo melted under the assault. He clung to him, his fingers gripping desperately at his tunic. When Aragorn's lips released his to travel down his throat, he gasped for breath and wrapped himself around him as tightly as he could.

Aragorn lay them down and pressed the length of his body along Frodo's, squeezing his backside, and bringing his mouth back down for another wet, searching kiss. Their hands frantically began clutching and caressing each other; Frodo felt hot, callused palms roaming under his shirt, and suddenly felt like Aragorn wore too many clothes. He pulled at Aragorn's tunic, but was unable to focus on the task and seemed to be yanking out endless yards of fabric.

As if sensing his difficulty, Aragorn drew his hands away from Frodo and pulled his tunic over his head in one smooth motion. Frodo gasped, faced with the vast expanse of Aragorn's dark, muscular chest. He touched it reverently, his fingertips following its contours, until Aragorn clasped Frodo's hand tightly to end the feather-light torment.

"Aragorn...I never dreamed..."

A wry grin turned up one corner of Aragorn's moistened lips. "Oh yes you did, Ringbearer."

_He knew!_

Aragorn smiled broadly and descended his mouth upon Frodo's once more. Any thought of shame or embarrassment was silenced by that kiss. Aragorn told him, without words, how glad he was to be in Frodo's dreams. Moaning, Frodo threaded his fingers through the hair at the back of Aragorn's neck.

Holding tightly to Frodo's backside, Aragorn rolled him over so that Frodo was laying on top of him. Frodo whimpered when he felt his thigh brush against Aragorn's manhood, and deliberately rubbed against it again, somehow needing greater contact with it. Aragorn broke the kiss, throwing his head back onto the bedroll. When Frodo realized the effect his action had on Aragorn, he brought his hand down and touched him through his breeches.

"Oh, yes, Frodo..." Aragorn's eyes were shut tight, his strong neck exposed for Frodo's mouth to claim.

Growing bolder, Frodo pressed his lips there, his hand never leaving Aragorn's hardness. He stroked it, lightly at first over the straining fabric, then harder, squeezing it as his lips gently sucked at Aragorn's throat.

Aragorn thrust his hips up into Frodo's hand, and Frodo groaned, his own arousal throbbing in response to Aragorn's reaction. Finally, Aragorn rolled Frodo onto his back and began pulling off his shirt. Frodo's heart leapt when he saw the blazing intensity behind the man's eyes.

With Frodo naked from the waist up, Aragorn began exploring with his lips and hands. Frodo sucked in his breath when a slick tongue covered his nipple, while callused fingers tweaked the other. Aragorn trailed his lips down Frodo's belly, following the path of dark hair that began under his navel and disappeared into his breeches. Frodo began panting, unable to catch his breath. "Oh yes...please..."

"You want this?" Aragorn teased, his voice husky. Frodo's hips writhed in response.

In one motion, Aragorn snapped open the buttons at the front of Frodo's breeches and pulled them down over his well-muscled legs. Frodo bent his knees up and buried his hands in the bedroll behind his head, silently pleading for Aragorn to fulfill his fantasies.

Aragorn watched him, marveling at how quickly Frodo lost his modesty as the passion inside him was unleashed. Lowering his head, he circled his tongue around the tip of Frodo's erection and heard him suck in his breath. His mouth slowly closed around him, inch by inch. Aragorn watched Frodo's reaction as the hobbit's eyes traveled back in their sockets, his jaw going slack.

Slowly, so slowly, Aragorn's lips stroked back up Frodo's length, then down again. Frodo's hips rose to meet him. Again. And again. Moving increasingly faster, Frodo became mindless, his long-denied need for release his only consciousness. His hips thrust to the rhythm of Aragorn's strokes, until finally, on the precipice, he grasped Aragorn's hair in his hands and pushed into the back of his throat. He could not have stifled the cries that burst from him. "Yes! Yes!" Over and over the waves crashed over him, Aragorn's throat contracting with his release.

Aragorn held on until the end, letting him go gently when the last of his spasms subsided.

He lay there, spent and gasping for breath, while Aragorn lay beside him, watching him, stroking his face and chest. Slowly Frodo came to the realization that Aragorn's arousal was still as strong as ever, pressed into his side. He rolled over and, reaching out, inserted his fingers into the waist of Aragorn's breeches.

"Aragorn, I want to please you too."

The expression in Aragorn's eyes was so full of desire. "I'll be right back," he whispered, kissing Frodo tenderly.

Aragorn stood up and crossed the camp, leaving Frodo feeling cold and bereft. When he returned he had something small he was concealing in his hand. Frodo wondered with half excitement and half trepidation what it could be. Before lying back down, Aragorn stripped off his breeches, and Frodo drew in a long breath, awe-struck by Aragorn in his full magnificence. His body gleamed in the firelight, bronzed and rippling with strength. This was Aragorn. The one who had protected him through Moria and on the slopes of Caradhras. The one whose eyes had drawn him in since their first meeting in Bree. It was impossible...impossible...and yet, it was happening.

Too soon, he was forced to end his appraisal when Aragorn lay back down by his side, pulling the blanket over them both and drawing him close. Aragorn parted his lips with a kiss. Frodo felt like he was in a dream. He cupped Aragorn's face in his hands, trying to make it real.

Aragorn molded their bodies together, his hot erection pressing into Frodo's thighs. Frodo gasped, breaking the kiss, and snaked his hand under the blanket. Aragorn was so beautiful; Frodo couldn't resist wrapping his hand around his thick shaft.

Aragorn closed his eyes, savoring the delicious contact. "I want to be inside you."

Frodo's stomach leapt into his throat as though he were falling from a great height. "Aragorn...I'm...I'm too small..."

"Shh...nonsense." Aragorn silenced further protests with a kiss. "Let me show you."

Frodo shuddered, frightened by the enormity of Aragorn's request. But, he trusted Aragorn completely. "Show me."

Aragorn's kiss became suddenly deeper, as though Frodo's permission opened the gates of a dam. Cupping Frodo's backside in his hands, he pulled the Hobbit's body tightly against him, forcing Frodo to release his hold on his manhood and wrap his arms around him. Frodo was trembling now in anticipation. The thought of what Aragorn was going to do sent waves of heat through him.

Frodo felt Aragorn's hands behind him working at something. Through his haze of arousal he thought he heard the faintest sound of a tiny vessel being uncorked. His tongue still delving in Frodo's mouth, Aragorn brought his hand between them to wrap around Frodo's length. Frodo whimpered, and realized dimly that it had been a vial of oil that Aragorn had brought over from his pack. His shaft was now being generously anointed with the slippery liquid by Aragorn's hot, callused fist. Breaking their kiss, Aragorn brought their pelvises together and grasped Frodo's arousal in hand with his own. Frodo thrust his hips involuntarily at that first contact between their most sensitive areas. Slowly, Aragorn rubbed his length along Frodo's, squeezing them together snugly. Frodo turned his face into the bedroll and stifled the sounds that were murmuring in his throat.

On and on they thrust together, Frodo's hips moving of their own accord in perfect time with Aragorn's. He needed more; he pushed harder and held on to Aragorn's arm for better leverage. Their love play nearly ended before it began, but Aragorn gently released him and brought his mouth back down to Frodo's, cupping his hand under Frodo's scrotum and farther, back to his most private place, where he spread some of the oil from his fingers.

Frodo could not stop his hips from moving; he was still riding Aragorn's rhythm. When he felt Aragorn exploring underneath him, he couldn't help rubbing against him.

"Yes...you're so passionate, my lovely Frodo. How I love giving you pleasure." The tip of Aragorn's finger circled around Frodo's opening. Frodo shut his eyes tight, wanting Aragorn in there so badly. When Aragorn finally pressed his finger slowly into him, there was a painful resistance there that made him wince.

"Relax..." Aragorn breathed.

Frodo obeyed. Aragorn's finger slid in with ease. It was like a deep tickle filled him, making him want to moan and giggle and gasp all at the same time. "Oh, that's..."

"Good?"

"Yes." Frodo closed his eyes and adjusted to the sensation. Each time he began to feel like he couldn't bear it, he remembered to relax and immediately the discomfort changed to pleasure. "Oh..." He sucked in his breath and squeezed Aragorn's arm. "More..."

Frodo's reaction was having an intoxicating effect on Aragorn. He pressed another finger slowly into him, fighting an internal battle not to take his hand away and fill him with his manhood instead. He could feel Frodo's body struggling with the intrusion, and could tell when he became accustomed to it. The tight ring relaxed before Frodo moaned in pleasure.

Steeling his will against the throbbing of his impatient arousal, Aragorn slid his fingers slowly out of Frodo's body, and then back in again. His manhood seemed to grow with each soft sound that escaped Frodo's lips. The hobbit was completely relaxed now, accepting Aragorn's large fingers easily.

Rolling off his side, Aragorn spread Frodo's legs and pressed the tip of his well-oiled erection into position. He felt the opening slam shut, barring his entrance. Frodo's expression was unfocused and wild.

"Please...Aragorn...I need you in me..." His hands pulled at Aragorn's large body.

"Relax..." he reminded him.

Immediately Frodo stilled. Slowly, ever so slowly, Aragorn pushed into him.

At that first penetration the man could have lost himself, although his control held fast, droplets of sweat forming on his brow. Frodo was panting hard, his abdomen quivering and contracting with need. Aragorn waited, holding still inside him until the involuntary flexing of Frodo's fully-stretched opening subsided. Gently, slowly, he withdrew, watching Frodo's face all the while.

Once more Aragorn slid back inside, sheathing himself in Frodo's waiting heat. Frodo sucked in a long breath, his eyes rolling back. Mindlessly Frodo brought his hand to his own erection and Aragorn brushed it away, taking him in hand himself.

While stroking Frodo's length, he fought to keep the pace of his hips slow and deliberate. The hobbit's face showed he was riding the crest of something vast and intense. Aragorn felt it happening, his shaft being swallowed up inside Frodo.

Frodo felt himself climaxing again. "Aragorn! Oh! Yes!"

"Show me, Frodo. Tell me." Aragorn's whisper was throaty and strained as Frodo bathed his hand with his warmth. Suddenly his thrusts quickened. Stifling a guttural moan, he buried his seed deep within Frodo, and collapsed onto him with all his weight.

Frodo threaded his fingers through Aragorn's silky hair and pressed his lips tightly to the top of his head. They lay there gasping for breath for what seemed like forever. Suddenly, he felt overcome. He never wanted this night to end, but he knew that he would wake up in the morning and it would be like a dream that had never happened. His eyes filled with tears.

"Aragorn," Frodo began, his voice shaky with emotion.

"Yes, Frodo?"

"Thank you. That was...beautiful."

"It was. You are."

Frodo couldn't help it. A tear spilled over his cheek. "Aragorn?"

Aragorn kissed the skin on Frodo's chest. "Yes?"

"I can't explain it, but I have this feeling that pulls at me. It's as though, somehow, I need you. I felt it before, and now...now it's almost unbearable. I feel as though some great threat is growing. Something that will separate us."

"Shhh, little one. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I would go to my grave before I would leave your side."

Frodo wanted to believe him, but the promise did not make his anxiety lessen. Aragorn's words felt empty, even though he knew he meant them with all his heart.

"You cannot sleep here," he whispered. "What if you are discovered?"

"I shall hold you only until you fall asleep. Then I will return to my post."

There was a long pause. "Well, I shant ever fall asleep, then," Frodo whispered, then suddenly felt himself being shaken. He realized it was Aragorn trying to contain his amusement.

All of the dread suddenly drained out of him. "Are you laughing at me?" He could not keep the smile out of his voice.

"You cannot resist sleep all night, little hobbit. I have seen how soundly you succumb to it."

The two of them laughing under their breath, Aragorn rolled them over so that Frodo lay tucked in his arm, his head resting on Aragorn's shoulder. Frodo nuzzled his chest. "I didn't think this was possible," he said.

Aragorn sobered. "I know."

With a gasp, he remembered the others sleeping nearby, and marveled that they didn't wake any of them with their lovemaking. The mortifying thought occurred to him that they actually might have. He blushed, but the possibility of facing horrified stares in the morning didn't seem to bother him very much right now.

Safe in Aragorn's arms for the moment, he thought of the rest of his journey to come. Somehow the peril awaiting him seemed less frightening. He knew that Aragorn would always be with him, even if they were parted. He squeezed him tight and pressed a kiss to his skin. His lover. His King.

In that moment, Galadriel's enigmatic words came back to him from his dream. He had almost forgotten about them.

_You are the same, carrying the same burden towards the same end._

Suddenly the riddle was solved. He now realized why it was so vital that he carry on. Aragorn would be king. He could feel it, even though the ranger fought it. Frodo realized: the weight he was carrying now would be with Aragorn for all his life. It was the weight of the whole of Middle Earth.


End file.
